


a fever you can't sweat out

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, did i write this just so i could use this smart-ass title?, maaaybe, this could be the staaart of something neeew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:41:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is sick and rather insufferable, Grantaire 'uh's and 'um's a lot, and Combeferre has had enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a fever you can't sweat out

“He’s been… well, you can imagine”, Combeferre mutters, gesturing to the closed bedroom door. “He’s insisting he’s fine, he won’t let me take his temperature, he sneezes, then pretends he didn’t, and argues with me when I say there was clear, audible evidence  _he did_ , and I…”, he takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes, before continuing in the same, leveled voice, “I am going to lose it  _soon_ , Grantaire, I mean it.”

Grantaire exchanges a look with Jehan, who just shrugs, oddly calm despite the very frustrated, tall Philosophy major pacing nervously up and down the living room.

Grantaire’s never seen Combeferre so out of it, always thinking of him as just the tranquil, peaceful young man who probably owned one turtleneck too many. He’s not entirely sure what to do, or what to say, to keep him from tipping over the edge.

“And where exactly do I come in the picture here…?”, he starts carefully, and Combeferre huffs impatiently.

“I have a class in fifteen minutes, and I have to do a presentation which half of my grade depends on, and I know,  _I know,_ he’s going to try to sneak out and go to his classes-“

“Why not let him?”, Grantaire asks, and Combeferre gives him a look of such intensity he actually backs away a few inches in fear.

“Okay, okay!”, he yells, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise, amusement and genuine horror, and Combeferre nods briskly, putting on his scarf, lips pressed into a thin line. Jehan chuckles softly with his secret, evil poet wisdom, glancing at Grantaire with a playful smile, and gets to his feet, buttoning his coat.

Grantaire just glares.

He keeps glaring until both of them leave the apartment, closing the door loudly behind them, with one last ‘you-best-behave’ look from Combeferre, and a giggle from Jehan.

Faced with the newly empty, silent apartment, he runs his fingers through his hair, dropping the look of disdain for something much less sure of himself.

He glances anxiously at the closed door of Enjolras’ bedroom, drawing one last, deep breath, before starting towards it slowly.

The door creaks loudly as he opens it, and Enjolras looks up from the side of his bed with alarm, bent over his feet, caught in the treacherous act of tying his shoelaces.

“Oh, it’s you”, he says, voice dripping with contempt, suggesting he thinks Grantaire doesn’t pose much of a threat to his escape routine.

“Yup, it’s me”, Grantaire says, and leans on the door with his back, effectively closing it.

Enjolras is wearing a dark blue set of pyjamas, the first three buttons of it open, his sweaty chest showing, as he fastens the laces on his other shoe in an official, busy manner. Very unfairly, as it seems to Grantaire, Enjolras, even as bloated and gross as he is right now, his nose bright red and probably leaky, still looks astonishingly like a Greek god, more than anybody else Grantaire knows can aspire, even on their best days.

“Thought I heard a third voice”, says Enjolras. “Why you, though?”

Grantaire would feel offended, but he’s too occupied with the way Enjolras' eyes are shining fever-bright.

“You should get back into bed”, he says. “You’re ill.”

Enjolras just huffs impatiently, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

“Is Combeferre busy, or something?”

“He’s got a class”, Grantaire replies. “And Jehan says last time he was on guard duty you shouted at him so much he came close to tears, and Courfeyrac is on a date and unreachable. He was this close to calling Joly, you know.”

Enjolras snorts, which, with his level of blocked sinuses, sounds more like ‘ungk’.

“So he called  _you_?”, he asks, a note of disbelief to his voice. He tugs a red hoodie over his pyjama shirt absently.

 _Yes_ , Grantaire thinks,  _yes, because Combeferre is, if nothing else, observant to a point that it’s really frightening._

And he knows Grantaire would come in a heartbeat to take care of Enjolras, a job avoided by everyone else, due to the fact he became rather insufferable every time he was sick.

“What about Bossuet? Feuilly? Bahorel?”, Enjolras presses on, and Grantaire shakes his head.

“You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid”, he says, moving to sit beside him, and Enjolras heaves one, long-suffering sigh.

“This is ridiculous, I am an adult and a responsible person, I can take care of myself-“

“Enjolras, last week you went without sleep for 60 hours and Combeferre and Courfeyrac had to wrestle you down and drag you to your bed”, Grantaire says, and Enjolras huffs in frustration.

“Ludicrous”, he mutters, and zips the hoodie.

“Enjolras?”, Grantaire asks carefully, watching him get to his feet.

“Yes?”, Enjolras replies, grabbing the apartment keys from his bedside table.

“Are you trying to go somewhere?”

“Of  _course_ ”, says Enjolras impatiently, rolling his eyes, as if he’s talking to a child.

“Well, I think you should know that, despite all your immaculate planning, you’ve failed to put on some pants before your shoes”, Grantaire says. He wonders how high Enjolras’ temperature really is.

Enjolras takes a long moment to look at his pyjama bottoms.

“Oh”, he says. “That’s why there aren’t any pockets.”

“Hahaha, okay”, Grantaire says slowly, grabbing his hand and tugging him back down on the mattress. “How about you get back into bed, and wait for me to, uh, find you a pair of jeans?”

“I need to get to my class”, Enjolras insists, but lets himself be pulled, taking off his shoes in one serene, slow motion, and climbing back beneath the covers. Grantaire brushes the back of his palm against his  forehead, and hisses.

“Shit, you’re burning up.”

“Thank you”, Enjolras says faintly, and disappears in the frankly amazing amount of cushions heaped at the head of the bed. Grantaire thinks he probably has Jehan to blame for that.

“Look, I’m just gonna make you some tea while I look for those pants, alright? And maybe bring you a thermometer, or something. “

“I’m fine”, Enjolras says stubbornly. “My temperature is just fine. You don’t need to… whatever it.”

“Uh-huh”, says Grantaire, watching him nervously.

He feels at a loss. He’s never had to take care of anyone before; he barely took care of himself for the most part of his adult life. And this is Enjolras he’s in full responsibility of, the man he’s spent hours gazing upon and admiring from his little corner of the café. Enjolras, who looks the most vulnerable he’s ever seen him, and it’s kind of adorable, but at the same time quite frightening.

 _It’s only three hours_ , he thinks.  _You can do this._

He should probably google what meds are used to break down a fever.

******

Turns out the thing you use to break a fever is the same thing you use to get over a killer hangover.

“Are the aspirins working?”, Grantaire asks tentatively, and Enjolras nods, staring at him suspiciously behind of his mug of tea. Grantaire is just glad he can see some of the clarity back in his eyes.

“You know”, Enjolras starts casually, glancing at the clock on his bedside table, “my class starts in half an hour.”

“Yeah, I know”, Grantaire replies hesitantly, watching him set his tea aside.

“And you still haven’t brought me any pants. I’m starting to think all that was a ploy to keep me in bed.”

“You’re catching on quickly, oh wise one”, Grantaire replies, torn between being amused and worried again. Enjolras twists his mouth in frustration, lifting an eyebrow.

“I  _am_  going to this class”, he says. “You… Judas.”

“Yeah, sure, good luck with that”, Grantaire says with a grin, before he meets Enjolras’ determined eyes.

There is a moment of resolute, stubborn silence, both of them weighing each other out, as Enjolras sits up slowly, and starts to get out of bed.

Grantaire, without thinking, pins his wrists down.

Enjolras’ jaw sets angrily, and Grantaire shouldn’t think about how attractive that is, but he does, oh, he does, he does, he does, and it takes all his willpower not to jump on him or do something as equally stupid.

“Grantaire-“, Enjolras grits through his teeth, and struggles to get out of his grip, which, unsurprisingly, he fails to do, given his current condition.

“You are sick”, Grantaire says, trying to keep his voice calm, “and you will stay in bed today, or Combeferre will have my insides for dinner. Did you know he can get really scary, when sufficiently pissed off?”

“Yeah, I know”, Enjolras murmurs, leaning slowly backwards and relaxing under Grantaire’s hold. He looks at the nightstand clock from the corner of his eye. He still has those thirty minutes, and he’s counting on taking on Grantaire when he least expects it.

But Grantaire knows him just well enough.

He kicks the sneakers off his feet, and pushes himself up on the bed carefully, still holding down Enjolras’ wrists.

“What are you doing?”, Enjolras says, eyes wide.

“I’m climbing into bed with you”, Grantaire explains, settling beside him calmly.

“No, you’re not.”

“As you can see, Enjolras, yes, I just did”, says Grantaire, with his back pressed against the headboard, and a big, smug grin on his face.

Enjolras opens his mouth to complain, but there’s something comforting about the feel of Grantaire’s warm body next to his, and he leans on him without thinking. Grantaire’s shoulders are firm and bony, and even though they don’t fit exactly right with his own, it’s not an entirely unpleasant sensation, and he relaxes against the other man completely.

But only for a moment or two. Then he needs to get to class.

As if he’s heard the thought, Grantaire suddenly swings both of his legs heavily over Enjolras’.

“Oh,  _come_   _on_ ”, Enjolras groans, and throws his head backwards in frustration, hitting the headboard with a soft  _thunk_.

“Do you think I’m that naive?”, Grantaire says, a small, shy smile on his lips.

A few moments ago, Enjolras’ head was almost on his shoulder, the soft hair tickling his chin. He figures that will keep his quota of happiness up until next year.

Enjolras takes a deep breath.

He supposes the battle was lost before it already started. And he’d better come to peace with the fact he was going to spend the next two and a half hours stuck in this room with Grantaire.

And what are his legs made of, lead?

“Drink some more tea”, Grantaire the Tin Man says, and pushes the cup back in his hand.

“Alright”, Enjolras mumbles grudgingly, and takes a big swallow. The taste of sweet tea fills his mouth, the warmth spreading through his chest, and he hums with pleasure.

Grantaire presses his hand against his forehead again.

“I think your temperature dropped a little”, he says.

“And aren’t you just  _ecstatic_?”, Enjolras asks.

“Why would I be?”, Grantaire replies. “Besides the obvious fact you’re  _not_  going to die from the flu, like they did in the middle ages, you dork.”

“Oh, you enjoyed playing the little nurse, didn’t you?”

“I think that fever’s getting to your head, you should shut up”, Grantaire says.

“No,  _you_  shut up”, Enjolras replies.

“ _No_ , you shut up”, Grantaire returns, resisting the urge to burst in laughter.

“Stop smiling”, Enjolras commands, wriggling his legs in another half-hearted attempt to escape.

“I’ll stop smiling, if you stop trying to get out underneath me”, Grantaire says.

“You’re too hot, I’m burning up here”, Enjolras complains.

“It’s a fever, you have to sweat it out”, Grantaire replies, biting his lip in order to stop smiling.

Enjolras makes a sound dangerously close to a whine, and sinks down beneath the thick covers. Only the top of his head is visible from the top blanket, light blond curls perching atop the pillows in a strangely defiant way.

“I think I’m just going to go to sleep now, thank you”, he says, his voice muffled by the layers. “After all, I have nothing else to do, now that you’ve taken me hostage and forbidden me to go to actually  _gain_  some education today.”

Grantaire just snorts, and takes a sip of Enjolras’ tea. Now that he’s tasted it, he feels he maybe over-sugared it.

“Are you drinking  _my_  tea?”, Enjolras asks, sounding incredulous.

“Why don’t you emerge from your blanket cave and see for yourself? And, in my defense, you left over a half of it in, and it’s almost cold.”

“Whatever. It was too sweet, anyway.”

Grantaire hums in agreement, and downs the rest of it in one go.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, did I  _say_  you could drink it?”, Enjolras asks, popping his head back out, and staring at Grantaire with a light smile, in probably the closest thing to a joke his fever-riddled brain could come up with.

“You are acting like a child”, Grantaire replies with fondness. “I should hate it, like everyone else does, but it’s, you know, it’s amusing. Different.”

“Not a child, I should think”, says Enjolras, narrowing his eyes. He climbs back up on his elbows and rests his head against the headboard again, exposing his long, pale throat.

Grantaire gulps.

Yes, Enjolras doesn’t look like a child. He looks like a lithe, tall, attractive blond man, covered in sweat, and only in his pyjamas, stretched over the mattress, right next to Grantaire.

And then Enjolras sneezes, and it takes him a minute to actually blow his nose, making all kinds of weird, disturbingly loud noises, and Grantaire is harshly brought back to reality.

“I’m gonna let you rest”, he says, starting to get up, but a hand suddenly shoots up, holding him in place.

“Or you could stay, a little”, Enjolras offers. “At least until I fall asleep.”

His blue eyes are, for the first time Grantaire’s ever talked to him, soft.

His eyes trail down to Enjolras’ hand, which is resting on his arm.

“Yeah”, he says quietly. “Yeah, I could do that.”

He lowers himself back down on the bed carefully, and Enjolras’ hand doesn’t move away.

“So, uh, what do we do now?”, Enjolras asks.

“I think you were just about to go to sleep”, Grantaire suggests, leaning into him lightly, and Enjolras melts against him again, finding he really enjoys the feeling.

“Not that sleepy, actually”, he murmurs.

“I could read to you until you doze off”, Grantaire offers, and picks up the newspaper laying on the nightstand.

“Those are a week old”, Enjolras says. “The news are not relevant anymore.”

“Who said I was going to read to you from the news section?”

“Oh, don’t tell me”, Enjolras groans. “You’re one of those people who read the newspaper backwards.”

“Exactly”, Grantaire says, and unfolds the newspaper with an official air. “Let’s start with your seven-day old horoscope. Leo, was it?”

Enjolras smacks the paper from his hands.

“On second thought, let’s not”, he says.

“So what do you want to do, just talk?”, Grantaire asks, and Enjolras shrugs.

“I don’t know, I don’t really care. Could you just, I don’t know… Put your legs back over mine? They’re warm. It’s nice.”

Grantaire is more than happy to oblige, and Enjolras leans into him heavily. He’ll later describe it as effects of the medication, but right now he just feels cozy and pleasant, cuddled against Grantaire.

“You know you’ll probably get sick as well, laying like this with me?”, Enjolras says drowsily, just to keep the conversation going, as he nuzzles into the touch.

“I, uhm, don’t mind, actually”, mutters Grantaire in his ear, his breath hot. “And isn’t this the part where you stop talking and just go to sleep?”

“I guess”, says Enjolras hazily, dragging them both lower on the mattress.

Grantaire lets himself be pulled, sinking down and adjusting against Enjolras, until they’re both comfortable enough.

_Do not sigh with contentment. Do not sigh with contentment._

But he can’t stop staring at the tiny slip of chest Enjolras is showing, slightly sweaty, golden skin, with just the tiniest bit of hair. He licks his lips, looking away, and then back again, feeling his eyes drawn to it.

_This is not good._

“You should, um, button your shirt”, he says, and reaches two hesitant fingers to gingerly push the third button of Enjolras’ pyjamas in its according slit. His hand brushes across the naked, exposed skin, and Enjolras tenses up beside him, his body suddenly rigid.

Grantaire withdraws himself instantly, and Enjolras watches him move away with a strange, unfamiliar  expression on his face.

“I, uh”, he says quietly. “I think you’re right.”

He starts buttoning his shirt carefully, and Grantaire can’t help but notice his fingers are slightly shaking. He wonders if it’s from the fever, or from the same thing he is feeling right now, like an earthquake and a hurricane at the same time. He only knows his hands would be trembling violently as well right now, if he hadn’t placed them firmly on his knees. Enjolras lifts his head from his collar and meets Grantaire’s eyes again after a moment, looking expectant.

“Good”, Grantaire says hoarsely, watching how Enjolras’ eyes drop down to his lips. They fall silent for a moment, before Enjolras curls his fingers around Grantaire’s arm curiously, and hears his breath hitch.

“I, uh, think you should get some sleep now. Really”, Grantaire manages, untangling himself from Enjolras quickly.  ”Sleep is good for the, uh, fever. Healthy stuff. I, um… You should sleep.”

“Yes, I think you’re right”, says Enjolras faintly, surprisingly displeased with the sudden, cold empty space next to him, and Grantaire nods absently, standing up.

“Yeah, okay”, he mumbles, taking one last look at Enjolras, sprawled over the bed, his curls spilling across the pillows. Enjolras doesn’t say anything in return, instead just watches him fumble awkwardly to the door in silence.

“I’ll, uh, leave you to it”, Grantaire says, his hand on the knob. “And, uh, when you wake up, Combeferre will probably be here already, so, uh… Bye.”

“Goodbye”, says Enjolras, his voice sounding even and detached.

Grantaire nods, looking away, his eyes somewhat wistful, and exits the room quietly.

When Enjolras wakes up, an almost hysterical Joly is looming over him, clutching his enormous medicine bag, fussing like an overly protective mother, and Combeferre is leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed with an air of victorious satisfaction. Enjolras lets them take his temperature, and obediently drinks the aspirins they give him, and he doesn’t think about Grantaire’s slender fingers, pressed carefully against his forehead, or the feel of his firm, lean body pressed flush next to his.


End file.
